


Eight O’Clock Sharp

by Nepenthene



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, New York City, Peggy’s Red Dress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26622805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepenthene/pseuds/Nepenthene
Summary: She knows it's an awful idea. It's self destructive, and painful, and positively bound to end in tears. And it’s utterly nonsensical to boot; the day they’d planned for had been months ago. But she doesn't care. She was the one who asked him, after all.Or, Peggy knows that Steve isn’t going to show up for their date. That doesn’t mean she’s not going to be there on time anyways.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Howard Stark, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	Eight O’Clock Sharp

She knows it's an awful idea. It's self destructive, and painful, and positively bound to end in tears. And it’s utterly nonsensical to boot; the day they’d planned for had been months ago. But she doesn't care. She was the one who asked him, after all.

So Peggy gets ready. Garter belt, stockings, dress. The red one, the one that made him look at her like she was the only woman in the world. At least, the only one that mattered. But then again, he looked at her like that all the time. 

She impatiently dashes the moisture from her eyes and pins her hair back from her face just so, paints her lips with her favourite shade of lipstick. Slips on her heels and walks out of the hotel on Broadway with her shoulders back and her head held high. 

The Stork Club is almost empty. It’s an unforeseen oddity that’s popped up in the aftermath of the war: the dance clubs, after the initial booms around VE and VJ day, have found themselves in a bit of a lull. Why, Peggy doesn’t venture to guess. Perhaps people are simply taking the opportunity to be all together again, the way many haven’t for almost five years now.

The few couples who are here, at least, are too wrapped up in each other to give a fig about some single woman at the bar. And as for the few single men haunting the edges of the dance floor, they keep their distance; she thinks it must be something in her face or demeanour that warns them off. _I’m taken._

She orders a martini and waits.

She's three quarters of an hour early. _Ridiculous_ , the practical part of her says. _Waiting here for longer won't make him any more likely to appear_. But what else is she supposed to do on this thrice-damned assignment in New York after all the paperwork she could find has been done? Sleep? Not likely. She sips her drink and stays where she is, avoiding looking at any one couple for too long and fighting back the lump in her throat when she mucks up. Every quiet laugh or flash of a gentle smile makes something like a lead weight settle heavier on her chest. 

Quarter to. She finishes her martini and smoothes her skirt down, eliminating imaginary wrinkles, and accepts the bartender's offer of another drink when he asks. He slides the glass over to her and she catches the pity in his eyes before he retreats to the other end of the bar. She hates it.

Five to eight. Her fingers are tight on her clutch, and she doesn't dare look up from her lap. She can't bear watching the door, knowing he'll never walk through it. They think she's strong, that she's brave.

She feels like the lowest kind of coward.  
  


* * *

After eight, the minutes slip by with breathtaking speed. Five, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, at eight-thirty, something inside her fractures. The tears she's been holding back well up, overflowing her lashes and dripping down her cheeks, silent and hot. She bows her head, hiding the tremble of her chin behind her hair.

“Hey, Peg.” Her head jerks up in horrified shock, but once she sees who it is she just wipes discreetly at her tears with a shaky hand and sniffs quietly.

“Hello, Howard.” He sits down next to her and pulls a hankie from his pocket, offering it to her while keeping his eyes directed carefully towards the row of bottles behind the bar. After a moment, she takes both the opportunity he's affording her to regain her composure and the square of monogrammed silk, and dabs at her eyes and nose while he orders a scotch.

She's the first to speak, looking down at the piece of dampened fabric she's twisting between her fingers. "Why are you here?"

Swirling the amber liquid in his glass, Howard finally looks over, a smile playing over his lips. “I’m hurt that you didn’t think to let your ol’ buddy Howard know you were in town, Peg. I had to hear it from Phillips, for God’s sake. Do you know how little I like to take a call from that man?”

Peggy laughs wetly. “I understand the sentiment.” She holds out the hankie, brief smile fading from her voice. “But why show up now? I'm sure you knew where I was staying if you talked to the Colonel.” He waves her outstretched hand away.

“Nah, keep it. I've got a hundred more just like it.” He sips his drink. “I didn't wanna screw the pooch any more than I usually do. Figured I'd wait until this evening.” He shrugs. “I was gonna go to your hotel, but the maître d' here's a pal of mine. He recognized you and gave me a call when ya showed up here instead.”

“Caught the intelligence bug, have we?”

Howard rubs his neck with a sheepish hand. “It didn't sound as bad in my head, okay? I promise I’m not stalking you. I’ve just been a little… worried.”

Peggy considers that for a minute. “Thank you, Howard. I don’t think I’ve been properly worried about in a long time.” She doesn't think he knows how to respond to that. He covers by taking a long drink.

They sit in silence for a while, Howard's presence familiar and soothing beside her. But then the band starts playing something slow and sweet and a touch melancholy that she just _knows_ Steve would've loved, and she feels her eyes begin to fill again.

“You know, Steve promised me he'd meet me here for a dance,” she blurts out suddenly. “Before he...” She chokes on the last word, and looks beseechingly into Howard's face. “You understand why I had to come, don't you?”

He doesn't say a word, just pulls her into a tight hug and smooths a trembling hand over her hair. And blast, she starts to cry again, turning her face into his shoulder and muffling her sobs with his jacket. It's an awkward position, and she'd really rather not be doing this in the middle of the Stork Club of all places, but she's been holding everything in for too long and now that the dam has broken she'll just have to ride it out as best she can. Even the indomitable Margaret Elizabeth Carter has her limits. 

When the tears have finally run their course and she's managed to pull herself together, she sits up and tries to pat her hair back into place. “I'm sorry for the melodramatics. I don't know what's gotten into me.” Well, of course she does, but Howard doesn't do well with emotions on a good day, so the least she can do is try and act natural now that he's let her cry all over him. 

Howard must get the memo, because he pastes on a limp excuse for his trademark devil-may-care grin and puts a hand on her shoulder, even though his reddened eyes betray the fact that he's obviously not as much his usual self as he might seem. “You know what you need, Peg? You need to relax. Whaddya say we get outta here? I guarantee the booze at the mansion is better.” He stands and tosses a couple bills onto the counter, extending a hand in her direction. “If you'll pardon my French, how do you feel about getting absolutely pissed tonight?”

Peggy smiles a little, and takes his hand. “I have to admit, that does sound rather appealing. Oh, if you insist.”

“Aw, Peg, I always insist. M'lady?” She slips her arm through his and they sweep out of the club together, eyes hastily dried and wounds well-hidden. But there's a difference now that she's not alone; she doesn't feel quite as much like she's bleeding out. 

Curious, what a friend can do. 

“It’s good to see you, Howard,” Peggy says softly. 

Howard smiles. “Same here, kid. Same here.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song Peggy hears is “When I Grow Too Old to Dream” by Vera Lynn, and it gives me all the Steve/Peggy feels. 
> 
> I hope you liked it! Drop a comment below and say hi!


End file.
